Let’s be honest — social media has trained us to measure our words by how they perform. Likes, shares, comments. Numbers. It’s not wrong to want readers. But when we start to believe that only visible writing is valuable, we shrink our creative joy. Many people stop writing altogether because they think their words don’t count unless someone’s watching. That’s simply not true.
Saying yes to unpaid gigs doesn’t just hurt your wallet. It hurts all freelancers. The more people accept free work, the more clients expect it. It drags down the value of creative labour for everyone else, and it fuels that tired old myth that writing or art isn’t “real” work — that it’s a passion, not a profession. The hard truth? You teach clients how to treat you.
How do writers like Hannah Gadsby, Lindy West, and Jenny Lawson talk about trauma, sexism, or mental health and still make you snort into your coffee? The answer lies in understanding that laughter doesn’t erase the hard stuff — it simply makes space for it.
Some days you’re unstoppable — ideas firing, words flowing, inbox handled, maybe even the washing folded (miracles happen). And then there are days where your brain just… powers down. Where starting feels impossible and thinking feels like wading through wet cement. If you’ve ever called yourself lazy because of that, I want you to take a breath with me — because this isn’t laziness. This is neurodivergence. And once you understand your rhythm, you can build a freelance life that bends with your brain instead of trying to beat it into shape.
Saying no isn’t being precious — it’s being professional. Not every opportunity fits your purpose. Not every trend deserves your energy. If a job, client, or topic clashes with your core values, walk away. It’s uncomfortable, yes — but staying true to yourself lasts longer than any invoice. Saying no is how you protect the voice that got you noticed in the first place.
You finish a draft and think, this sounds like me. Then you start polishing. You swap a few words, trim a few lines, make everything neat and proper. And suddenly, your piece sounds… safe. Fine. But not you.
YA stories live on emotion and honesty. When you understand your own feelings, your characters’ emotions ring true. A panic attack you write about today might turn into a storm scene tomorrow. A friendship fight could become your novel’s heart. Journalling gives you emotional truth — the kind readers recognise as real.
People scroll faster than ever — flicking past stories, ads, and ideas in less than the blink of a latte sip. But here’s the thing most creators forget: behind every viral clip is a sentence that stopped someone. A caption that made them laugh, nod, or think, “Wait, that’s me.” Short-form writing isn’t about squeezing words into 15 seconds — it’s about making those seconds count.
A book cover isn’t decoration. It’s communication — the first impression that tells readers what to expect. In the world of publishing, your cover is your silent salesperson. So, what makes a cover not just nice, but effective?
Children thrive when technology use is balanced with imaginative play and parent-child conversation. Those moments build emotional resilience, communication skills, and curiosity — qualities screens alone can’t teach. When stories lead, screens follow. And when that happens, young people don’t just consume — they create.
